The witches walk the woods tonight,
Through amber waves of evening light,
Through barren hollows in the fog,
Past village windows shut up tight.
The demon glow enshrouds the bog,
Unfit for either snake or frog,
And on the lake the willows heave,
The witches gather on the log.
Inside the glade the women grieve,
For fallen sisters they receive,
The blood of Tovoth, Apostate,
To Gog the Great on Candlemas Eve.
The ladies chant for altered fate,
For favors in exchange for hate,
For love and not the fleshly pound,
That Judas found at Cerberus' gate.
That baying, triple-headed hound,
Whose prowling footfalls beat the ground,
Comes nowhere near the wicked brides,
Serenity is all they've found.
The judge is blind, the gavel glides,
The witches weep, the jury slides,
On innocents it lays its wrath,
In careless hands our fate resides.
We baptized few in mercy's bath,
Need never walk the narrow path.
Comments about this poem (Candlemas Eve by Leland D'Elormie )
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